Sweet Fedora
by madeleine G
Summary: This is just a bit of nonsense written as a gift for a friend.  A young art student helps Peter and Neal catch a thief.


This is just a bit of nonsense written as a gift for a friend. A young art student helps Peter and Neal catch a thief.

**Sweet Fedora**

Sena Federov was an eighteen year old art student on scholarship to the Pratt Institute in Manhattan. She was loaded with talent and intelligence which were housed in a petite five-foot nothing, 103 pound frame. Her diminutive stature had sometimes been a problem when trying to get adults to take her seriously.

Her favorite professor, however, seemed to take her very seriously. The assignment she was currently working on for him was to study the technique, composition, brushstrokes and create a copy of a Picasso oil painting. Professor Lang asked her specifically to duplicate "Girl Reading at a Table" as a favor to him. She had nearly completed it, but still wasn't satisfied with her work.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art was currently having a Picasso exhibition, with works from their collection as well as pieces on loan. The particular painting that Professor Lang had requested was one that would be shortly shipped out at the close of the exhibition. Despite her professor's request, she decided to choose another painting to duplicate, one that would continue to be available for her to study even after the exhibition. Her second attempt was to be "Woman in Armchair."

Preferring to work at night, she had managed to wheedle permission to use the classroom studio after hours. She was very good at getting people to give her what she wanted. It was part of the whole childlike charm she possessed in abundance.

Having finally declared her copy of "Woman in Armchair" complete, Sena went to clean her brushes just after midnight. When she returned, her painting had disappeared from the easel. She was alone in the classroom. She darted out into the hall but saw no one in either direction. She was mystified. Who would want to take a classroom assignment project? It certainly wasn't worth anything, except to her.

First thing in the morning Sena reported the theft to her professor. He was sympathetic, but did not think it was cause for undue concern. "Sena, who would purposely steal a student's painting? No, I'm sure it must have been a mistake, a mix-up of some kind. It will eventually turn up."

He urged her to complete the first painting she had started. "And I tell you what, when your other painting is found, I'll give you extra credit for having done two. Okay?"

Sena didn't really have any options, so she agreed. A few days later, she made her way to the Picasso exhibit at the museum to study the painting she just couldn't quite get right. While there, she also went to look at the "Woman in Armchair." Sighing and thinking that she really had done an excellent job with her copy, she peered closely at the painting. Her breath caught in her throat. She stared and stared and decided she was not seeing things. The painting displayed on the wall of the Met was hers! Someone had switched out the original for her copy that had been stolen.

Trembling with a mix of excitement and indignation, she found her way to the local police precinct and waited impatiently to report the theft to the desk sergeant at the counter.

Unfortunately, when the sergeant looked over the counter, her diminutive stature made him not see her as an adult. He smiled and asked what he could do for her. She started to explain that she was a student and one of her paintings had been stolen. At that point the officer was only half listening to her story, already having made up his mind that this sounded like a schoolroom prank. He was polite, but condescending as he dismissed her with an insincere assurance that they would look into it. Sena was fuming by the time she left.

More determined than ever, she decided to kick it up a notch. She flagged down a cab and told the driver to take her to the FBI building. Still fueled by her righteous indignation, she demanded to speak to the man in charge of white collar crimes. She was not going to allow some junior agent to put her off and railroad her out the door.

Refusing to be deterred, the petite package of willpower finally got her wish. She was escorted to the office of Special Agent Peter Burke.

Upon seeing her, he immediately assumed a fatherly mien. He greeted her pleasantly. "Sena, is it? Why don't you sit down. Tell me about your problem."

"A Picasso painting was stolen from the Met and replaced with a forgery. I painted the copy."

At this bold statement, the indulgent father disappeared and was replaced with the deadly serious FBI agent. His eyes narrowed as he reevaluated the young woman. "Ms. Federov, are you confessing to being part of an art heist?"

Sena took a moment to enjoy the curious dark pleasure she felt at being thought capable of a successful art theft. But then she shook her head to clear that image and told Peter, "Don't be an ass. If I were the thief, I would never confess."

Ignoring Peter's hastily suppressed bark of laughter, she went on to explain. "I'm an art student. I copied the painting as an assignment, and it disappeared. Today I went to the Met and recognized my painting. Someone stole mine and switched it out for the original. I want to help you solve this. I'm very good at puzzles."

As she was speaking, Neal had wandered over to Peter's office. He quietly stood in the doorway listening as Sena told her story. When she was finished, he entered the office. "Peter, we have to go check this out!" Neal was doubly delighted at the prospect of a visit to the Met and an escape from the office. He slipped into charm mode, lit up his brightest smile and offered Sena his hand. "Hi, I'm Neal Caffrey. I'm a consultant. I work with Peter."

Sena turned towards the man addressing her, her hand automatically reaching out to his. But before she could acknowledge his greeting, she raised her eyes, and all rational thought fled. Smiling down at her was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Eyes the blue of sultry summer skies in Alabama. Rich coffee colored hair curling teasingly behind his ears. And an indecently irresistible smile. Her mind ceased to function.

Peter cleared his throat. Twice. "Ms. Federov?" he began. Getting no reaction from the mesmerized young woman clinging to Neal's hand, he heaved a martyred sigh. "Neal, could you dial it back a bit? We need her conscious."

Neal laughed and gently removed his hand from Sena's.

"Sena?" Peter tried again.

She returned her gaze to Peter and forced herself to focus while trying to ignore the warmth of the blush creeping up from her neck.

"Sena, can you accompany us to the museum?"

"Of course, Agent Burke." She was valiantly trying to regain a businesslike demeanor and hide her embarrassment.

Amused at her determination to regain control, Peter decided he liked this girl. He smiled at her, "You can call me Peter."

She swallowed her discomfiture and returned a sunny smile. "Thank you, Peter."

The three of them left in harmony, both men tacitly pretending not to notice the way Sena's gaze never left Neal. As they exited the building, Neal put on his fedora. Sena's eyes lit up at the slick practiced skill with which he flipped the hat onto his head. "Really nice hat! Could I try that?"

Neal just laughed and handed her the fedora. He watched in amusement as she tried over and over again to emulate his hat trick.

Peter sighed. Again.

When they reached the museum, Neal was quick to confirm that the painting was indeed a copy. "Excellent work, Sena. You have quite a talent for forgery." Neal told her with a smile.

Sena beamed at the praise. "Thanks. I'm finishing up a copy of another Picasso. My professor specifically asked me for it."

Peter turned quickly at her words. "You have another painting? A copy of one that's here at the Met?"

"Yes, it's 'Girl Reading at a Table.'" She intended to ask the reason for his sudden interest, but Peter was suddenly hustling the two of them out of the museum and back to the car.

"Shouldn't we be reporting the theft to the museum curator?" Sena asked.

"No," responded Peter. "We don't know who is involved, and I don't think the thieves are done yet. I have a hunch they are waiting to see if the switch is discovered. If it isn't, I think they'll try again. With your second painting. How is that one coming along?"

"It's almost done. I did most of the work when my professor assigned it to me weeks ago. I only switched to the other painting because the first one is on loan to the Met and will be sent back at the end of the exhibit."

A look of understanding crossed Neal's face. "That's in two days, Peter. If you're right, they have to act now."

"I know." Peter replied as he glanced towards Sena.

"No, Peter, you can't expose her to this. It's too risky," said Neal.

Sena looked from one man to the other. "You think they are going to steal my other painting and switch it out for the original?" She watched as Peter slowly nodded. "You want to use my painting as bait?" Her voice had risen to a squeak as she spoke.

Peter assumed that she was worried. After all, she still was just a kid. "No, no, it's a bad idea. We'll think of something else."

"No way! It's a great idea! We lure them in, and we arrest them. Awesome!" Sena's eyes were glowing. She was almost dancing in anticipation.

"_We _arrest them? No. _I_ arrest them. Your part is done when you finish the painting. These men could be dangerous." Peter didn't at all like the mulish expression that appeared on her face. He could smell trouble. This was frighteningly too much like having two Neal Caffreys to deal with.

Peter checked his watch. "Neal, I've got a meeting to get to. You and Sena take a cab. Make sure she gets home safely."

Peter turned to the young woman who was looking way too pleased at the prospect of having Neal all to herself. "When you have the painting done, you call me." Peter handed Sena his card. "That's all you do—just call me."

"Okay, okay. I'll call you," she agreed grudgingly.

The cab left them off at Sena's apartment building. Neal followed her up the stairs. He put his hat down on the kitchen counter next to a huge jackalope stuffed animal. Unable to resist, Sena picked up the fedora and practiced the hat trick some more.

With a critical eye, Neal examined the painting she was working on. She really had done a wonderful job. He offered a few complements, criticisms and suggestions to help her finish. Sena gave him a glass of Coke and invited him to sit down. He accepted.

"So, Neal, you said you're a consultant. How did you get that job?"

"The hard way." He lifted his pant leg to reveal the ankle tracker to her. "I was convicted of forgery. I'm out of prison on parole in exchange for working with the FBI to help them solve crimes." Neal braced himself for what he expected to be her reaction: shock, withdrawal, disillusionment. He wasn't prepared for the expression of delight that actually showed on her face.

"Really? How cool is that? So tell me, what did you forge, and why did you get caught?"

Neal was torn between enjoyment of such open admiration and his certainty that Peter would strenuously object to his corrupting an impressionable young woman. "Sena, you shouldn't look at my life as an example to follow."

"Of course, not. I wouldn't make the mistake of getting caught."

Neal realized that he would be wasting his breath trying to convince her that breaking the law was a bad idea. Especially since he didn't believe it himself. So as quickly as he could, he excused himself and caught a cab home, relieved to escape the whole dilemma.

That night Sena stayed up working on the painting after fortifying herself with a well-rounded meal of pasta and Coca Cola.

She loved to work at night—it stimulated her creativity. She was both soothed by the quiet and stirred by the release of inhibitions that darkness seemed to bring. Working diligently despite the occasional daydream about sparkling blue eyes under a dashing fedora, she finished the painting around 2:00 a.m.

Having drunk all the coke she had, she left her apartment and went down to the pop machine for reinforcements. When she returned upstairs, she saw the door to her apartment was open. She approached cautiously and saw a man—a huge man—standing in front of her painting. Sena's first impulse was to stride in there and confront him, but she caught sight of a gun tucked into his belt. Deciding that, alone, in the middle of the night, faced with a large, armed man, discretion was the wisest course, she ran. She got to the lobby of the building and hid behind the counter. Crouched there and thanking her lucky stars that she had her cell phone in her pocket, she called Peter.

Despite being sound asleep in bed, he answered on the second ring. "This is Burke."

"Peter, it's Sena. There's a man in my apartment! He's here to steal the painting."

"Get out of there now!"

"I'm okay. I didn't go into the apartment. I don't think he saw me. I'm hiding in the lobby."

"Stay hidden, and call campus security. I'll be there as quick as I can." With that he hung up and started grabbing for his clothes and shoes.

Elizabeth rolled over and asked what was going on.

"It's that girl I told you about, the one whose paintings are being used as forgeries. She's in trouble. If it's okay with you, I'd like to bring her here for the night."

El smiled. "Of course, you can bring her. I'll make sure the guest room is ready for her."

Peter made excellent time without traffic to slow him down. When he got to Sena's apartment, campus security was just finishing up with her. Peter searched her apartment, then called her in. "Pack a bag. You're not staying here tonight. Where is your roommate?"

"Shelby? She's at a comic con this weekend. She won't be back till Monday."

"Good. Let's go. You're coming home with me. My wife is waiting up for you."

Shortly thereafter they arrived at Peter and El's house. El was at the door to welcome them in. Unfortunately, Satchmo was also in a very welcoming mood. He took an instant liking to Sena which he displayed by putting his front paws up on her shoulders and knocking her on her butt.

"Oh, Sweetie, I'm so sorry!" exclaimed El. "He was just trying to be friendly."

From under the onslaught of slobbering doggie tongue, Sena managed to respond, "Oh, it's okay. My dog at home can get a little too enthusiastic, too."

"Is he as big as Satch?" El put out her hand to help Sena get out from under cover of dog.

"Oh, no! He's a Brussels Griffon named Maltie. He only weighs twelve pounds."

"Well, come into the kitchen. I have some cookies for you."

She followed El into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Yawning in her oversized tee shirt with Japanese anime figures on it, Sena really did look like a kid, tired and cranky from being kept up too late. She perked up a bit as El placed a large plate of cookies in front of her. Carefully avoiding the oatmeal ones, she helped herself to chocolate chip. El put a large glass of milk in front of her. Sena's expression faltered.

"Uh, no thanks, Mrs. Burke. I don't drink milk."

"But you need milk. You're a growing girl."

"I'm not a child. I'm eighteen. I'm legally an adult. And milk is disgusting."

Peter didn't care for that attitude being directed towards his wife. After all, El was just trying to be nice. He asked saracastically, "So, you want a beer with your cookies instead?"

Sena shot him an arch look, the effect somewhat spoiled by the smear of chocolate on the corner of her mouth. And then she realized she had overstepped her bounds. "Mrs. Burke, I apologize. That was rude. I appreciate your letting me stay here."

"Apology accepted. You're welcome here, Sena. Now, come with me and I'll show you the guest room. We could all use some sleep."

The next day Sena was quiet on the ride to Neal's place. Peter left her alone with her thoughts. When Neal joined them, however, the young woman brightened noticeably.

Peter filled Neal in on the events of the previous night. His voice touched with concern, Neal asked, "Are you alright? Thank God you weren't in the apartment."

"I'm fine. But what do we do next?"

Peter answered her question. "Well, if you're up for it, I'd like you to spend the day in the museum. Sena, I'd like you to see if you can recognize your thief from last night. He might work there or have connections there. It's a long shot, but we don't have much else to go on. Certainly not enough for a warrant."

"You think he's going to be there today?"

"This is the last day for the exhibit. Come five o'clock that painting is being boxed and shipped back to where it came from. There should be a lot of activity by museum personnel today. Since the switch of the first painting was done so flawlessly without any signs of a break-in, I have to think there's an inside man at the museum. You did get a good look at him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I would recognize him. So, a stake out. Sounds like fun. Have you done this a lot?" she asked of Neal.

Neal laughed. "Me? No. Mostly I've been on the receiving end of surveillance. But at least we'll be in the museum, not stuck in a van staring at a monitor."

Sena was quiet for a minute, thinking. "You said you didn't have enough for a warrant. You have a suspect in mind then. You think my professor is involved with this, don't you?"

Neal and Peter exchanged a look. Peter replied, "I'm sorry, Sena, but yes, it looks that way."

Sean nodded her head. "Suddenly, this isn't quite so much fun."

They had arrived at the museum. As they exited the car Peter cautioned Sena. "Now, you understand, you are here only to identify the thief. Nothing more. I want you to stay out of sight as best you can. If you see him, you tell me. I don't want either one of you doing any heroics. Both of you promise me." Peter found himself looking at two identical expressions of complete innocence and total insincerity. He got that sinking feeling again as if he were seeing double Caffreys. "I mean it. You come get me. Period."

Neal first went to confirm that the painting was still the original and hadn't yet been switched. Then he conducted Sena on a tour of the museum, the gift shop, the cafeteria, the various restaurants. Peter remained at a distance from them, watching to see if the presence of the young art student attracted any attention.

Using his charm and Nick Halden's President's Circle membership card, Neal got the two of them admitted into the museum offices. Peter cooled his heels outside the offices fuming at how he's been outfoxed by the pair of con artists.

Afterward, the three of them shared a late lunch at the Roof Garden Café. Led by Neal, conversation centered on famous or rather infamous art heists. Much to Peter's dismay, he watched Sena gazing at Neal with rapidly developing hero worship. When Neal folded a paper napkin into an origami lily for her, the infatuation deepened.

The afternoon shift of guards came on at 3:00. So after lunch, they decided to take one final tour before admitting defeat. The three of them entered the Picasso exhibit. And that's when Sena saw him. The man who had seemed enormous in her apartment was whittled down in the light of day with FBI backup standing next to her. Her anger at the man blossomed full force. "That's him!" she said, pointing to the guard who had just come on duty. Without thinking she started towards him, determined to confront the thief who had violated her home. Peter grabbed her by the collar of her shirt just in time and yanked her backwards.

"Let me go, Peter! He'll get away. I'm going to get him."

"You're not going anywhere but back to the car."

Sena continued to struggle and argue in hushed tones as Peter literally dragged her out of the exhibit. "I can take care of myself! I'm a third degree black belt!"

"Which isn't any use against a gun."

"He's not going to shoot a girl in the middle of a museum," she countered.

"Maybe he won't, but I just might. Stop fighting me!" Peter's patience deserted him as Sena kept dragging her heels and twisting away from him. He picked her up bodily—all 103 pounds of her—and hauled her kicking and punching out of the museum. Neal followed quickly but was careful to keep out of range. Before Peter could transfer custody of her to Neal, Sena's flailing fist managed to connect with his jaw. He saw a few stars—it was a solid punch. He steadied himself and lugged Sena over to Neal.

"Here, you take her, and keep her still!"

Staring nervously at the 100 pounds of thrashing, pissed off teenager, Neal asked, "How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know—try smiling at her." Peter literally threw her at Neal who caught her and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

In self defense, Neal held her pressed against his chest until her struggles ceased. Finally, he loosened his grip and looked down at her face. She relaxed and smiled up at him adoringly. He raised one hand to move her hair off of her face while the other hand still held her loosely.

As soon as she felt his hold slacken, she promptly stomped on his instep, kicked him in the knee and ran off after Peter. "Rotten little con artist!" Neal swore under his breath, and limped after her.

She caught up with Peter as he was handcuffing the guard he had pushed up against the wall. Frustration at having missed the take down engulfed her. She started yelling at the guard advising him of the dubious nature of his parentage and how cowardly he was to steal from students who struggled to afford even the most basic of art supplies.

Peter walked the guard to the car and deposited him in the back seat. "Sena, you will need to make a formal statement for the district attorney, but this guy's already looking to make a deal. And, I'm sorry, but he has implicated your professor in the scheme. We'll be in touch."

At her stricken expression, Neal put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sena. I know you really liked him." She turned from him to hide her emotions and walked a few steps away.

"Neal, I'm going to drive our suspect in for processing. You see that Sena gets home, then meet me back at the office."

"You don't want to just drop her off now?"

"I don't want her in the same car with him." Peter gestured with his head towards the guard in the back seat. "It's not safe."

"Safe for whom?"

"Who do you think?"

Neal tried and failed to suppress a smile. He stepped to the curb and hailed a cab with his usual skill. He bundled Sena into the cab and they rode to her apartment. After telling the cab driver to wait, Neal escorted Sena to the building entrance.

"Busy day, huh? Are you going to be alright?" Neal lifted her chin with one hand and looked into her eyes.

She smiled helplessly up at him and silently thanked the gods of dental occlusion for getting her braces off right before she came to New York.

He leaned in closer, thoroughly enjoying the effect he was having on her. His lips parted.

Trembling slightly, she closed her eyes in anticipation.

And he lightly bopped her on the nose with his index finger. Her eyes flew open.

Chuckling, he removed his fedora and placed it at a rakish angle on her head. "Here you go, little girl. Use it wisely." With a final grin and a tip of an imaginary hat, he turned and walked away.

Sena was speechless. Disappointment that he hadn't kissed her and jubilation that he'd given her his prized fedora swirled together in a bittersweet brew. She removed the stylish hat and ran her fingers lovingly over it as she slowly climbed the stairs to her apartment.

She wondered, if she followed in Neal's footsteps, would she make a good con artist. And would she have a nickname, a signature? Maybe a calling card. In her mind she started designing a calling card. Something esoteric, but classy. It might have Japanese characters on it. And a fedora! Sweet!

Back at the FBI, Neal caught up with Peter in his office. He sat down gingerly, still feeling the ache in his knee where Sena had kicked him. "You know Peter, we should really do something about Sena"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's too smart for her own good. And she's talented."

"And she's intrigued by you. A bad combination."

Neal shrugged in agreement and allowed himself a small smile. "She could turn into another Neal Caffrey."

"After watching the two of you together today, it did cross my mind." Peter replied, frowning.

"Got any ideas?"

"Well, I could talk to Hughes about getting her a summer internship working here with us." Peter was unconsciously fingering the swelling on his jaw.

Neal was absently rubbing his sore knee.

The two men exchanged a look as the same thought flashed through their minds. They both shook their heads in complete understanding.

"Maybe that's not such a good idea after all."

"No. It's not." Neal paused a moment and then grinned. "But maybe we could send her to Ruiz."

Peter's lips curved slowly. Hmmm…revenge would be Sweet.

11


End file.
